


Speldosa

by EruditExperimenter



Category: Desert Bluffs - Fandom, Strex Family - Fandom, StrexCorp - Fandom, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Horror, Surreal, Surrealism, hallucination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruditExperimenter/pseuds/EruditExperimenter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stumbling upon a music box, Sergio finds a clockwork reflection of a mind where not all is as it seems</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speldosa

**Author's Note:**

> Stella Kehr Vega belongs to rosylocks.tumblr.com and can be seen depicted at: strexycorpertm.tumblr.com  
> This piece was co-written by rosylocks.  
> Ricardo Vega belongs to timeanddivision.tumblr.com be seen depicted at: strexcorpsguardian.tumblr.com  
> Sergio Vega belongs to me and can be seen depicted at: eruditexperimenter.tumblr.com

"…Curious."

Sergio frowns thoughtfully as he looks over the bauble on the shelf.  He’d been visiting Ricardo’s office to pursue his mentor’s library when he came across a small, ornately wrought and bejeweled golden box.  The re-educator turns it this way and that, finding a tiny keyhole in its base.  Fingers tracing the lid, he finds it to be locked securely.  

_Well, that won’t do._

Sergio casts his gaze about the room for a moment, seeing if he could spy a key, but had no luck; Ricardo not choosing the, ‘hiding in plain sight’ option.  Drumming his fingertips upon his chin, the re-educator begins to look for some clue, finally lighting upon another oddity among the books on history, business, and socioeconomics.

_The Secret Garden._

Drawing out the volume, setting the little box aside, he opens it to find a tiny hollow carved out into the pages, inside of which is a tiny, delicately wrought golden key.

_Hey presto!_

Grinning in triumph, he fits the key carefully into the box, giving it a few twists before the lid pops open of its own accord,, a tinkling tune issuing and a tiny ballerina springing upright to spin to the music.  Watching transfixed, he cannot put his finger on precisely why he feels the compulsion to play with the trinket, but something about it singularly captures his fascination.

And the ballerina, with her pale enamel skin, fluffy tulle skirt, and red-gold hair…  She looks so very like…

" _Stella_?"

Sergio’s head spins, waves of vertigo coming over him.  The room swims and, with a groan, he begins to sink slowly into a nearby chair.

There’s a ripple in the water of the pond and the colorful fish residing in it scatter to and fro in confusion and fright, their guarding sprites flitter through the damp air just as confused. Their guest has been here only yesterday.  What brings him back?

A few soft hosts seek out their maiden to warn her of an intruder.

‘ _He’s ten feet tall_!’ one frightfully exclaims. ‘ _He wears all tar_!’ the other squeaks in.

The small maiden calms their spirits as she can and sets to look for the monstrous nightmare her fellow residents are so nervous about.

She finds him in the middle of the clearing, standing inside a fairy ring and looking around in bewilderment. Just as tall and dark as she was warned he’d be. Not hostile in the least but not her usual guest either.

“Who are you?” Her small voice demands. “How did you get here?”

When Sergio’s vision finally clears, what he sees fails to bring him clarity.  What was this place?  There had been a little trinket; a music box.  It had played so sweetly…

At the sound of the voice he turns, eyes only widening with surprise at the commanding little figure before him.

He knows her.  If he was robbed of every sense, he would still know her.  Features softening, he steps out of the ring of plump, red mushrooms speckled with white to kneel in the moss of the forest floor, bringing him closer to the young girl’s height.

"My name is, Sergio," he replies gently.  "How do you do?  I am not certain how I came to be here, exactly.  There was music…I was…someplace else.  Perhaps a library - I recall there were books.  Where am I now?"

The little girl does a little polite curtsy before the kneeling man, her eyes fixed on his face the whole time, cautious even with the serenity that blooms from the tall man.

"Sergio." The taste of the name is bitter in her mouth, making sadness wash over her whole being despite herself.  "You are in my memories, Sergio. How did you find the key here?" She pinches his pants’ leg, pulling him gently to follow her away from the clearing and the irritated fairy ring, which is already huffing and puffing pink smoke.

"Only one man knows of this place and where the key is, and you are not him."

"Key?" he echoes before looking down into his hand to see a tiny, golden key resting in his palm.  "It was…in a garden," he replies slowly.  "A secret garden."

Smiling to the little girl, he follows as he’s tugged.

"Your memories are very lovely here, Stella," he says gently.  "It looks like something out of a fairy tale.  Who is the other man that visits you?  Are you all alone in the woods here?"

He can see his wife’s characteristic perceptiveness alight in the girl’s eyes; the scrutiny and attention to detail.  Although this girl’s eyes are green, not grey.

She sighs heavily, letting go of his pant to let the man walk on his own. Their path appears beneath their feet, pink quartz stretching long into the deepest of the forest with the sky tall birches breaking their ancient roots to move out of their way, allow passage to the little maiden and her tar-dressed guest.

“The other man is not important to you, for now. I’m here on my own unless you count the spirits of the past haunting me.” More trees sway away and troubled, polished wood, colorful cuckoo clock birds fly from the tops, landing on lower branches to coo at the tall guest, Technicolor eyes watching his every step.

The sound of gears creaking and groaning comes from the thick green, fuzzy paws resting on tree trunks, rhinestone eyes peek at the man, a gentle melody of a thousand music boxes filling the air.  When he looks back towards the sound – they hide from sight, music muting until it’s safe to peek again.

Sergio takes in the surroundings with an air of wonder, following his little guide as she picks her way through the wilderness.  As the cuckoos flutter about to greet him, he pauses, extending a hand to try and touch one.  The woods are in turn primal, fairy tale, and toy box.  It’s like finding one’s way through a dream exquisitely crafted by a toy maker and a confectioner.  He follows the pink, crystal path, watching the little music box creatures, utterly enraptured.

"The spirits of the past?” he murmurs.  “They don’t hurt you, do they?"

The little maiden shakes her head, “No, they don’t hurt me but they wail all the time. The closest one spends her days brushing my hair and laughing.” She explains as a matter of factly.

The memory fragment stops and turns to Sergio, pointing to a bridge whose construct is mixed with gold silk, candy, and ancient stone.

“Yours is there, did you come for that?”

He follows her gesture to the bridge, growing quiet.  Brow furrowing, his stomach gives a sudden twist at her query, bemusement dawning on his features.

"Mine?  Mine what?  You…"

Narrowing his eyes, Sergio felt his heart throb loudly in his head.

"Are…my memories here, as well?"

The fragment notices him slowing down, naturally feeling the whole world around her, and the heavy beat of his heart reverberates in her ears, occupying her head space like scared rabbits huddling together in a small cave, awaiting with horror the big bad outside to sink it’s teeth into the soft furs.

“Yes. The Other Man built a bridge for us to play together and look for our missing pieces.” She resumes walking to the other side, leading the tar dressed man away from the bridge.

“Other Man?” he queries.

She stops in her tracks, holding her small palm out to halt him as well.

"The Other Man is irrelevant, and I can’t tell you much about him as it is - there’s a sworn oath between myself and him.  Only you can tell yourself about the Other Man, but you are not ready to face what’s beyond the bridge. Not yet." She pauses. "Not until you find the missing pieces."

Before Sergio can ask again, she continues - “Here, in this realm, having missing pieces has a more literal meaning than what you’re used to hear. I literally means that part of me are missing. They get lost the as I lose more of my humanity each year,” the little maiden sighs.  "I might not have it as hard as you do, but every time I find one piece, I lose two." She tries to pat over her heart, only to have her little hand sink in.

Sergio’s eyes go round as saucers, color draining from his face as he drops to his knees, reaching out to gently hold her shoulders, expression alight with alarm.  The way her hand causes the indentation - too far, much, _much_ too far - it makes his own heart drop into his stomach.  He half expects blood to well up beneath the indentation or for there to be some sickening crunch of collapsing bone and cartilage.  He’s not sure if he’s _more_ or _less_ horrified at the silence.

"Oh, Smiling God!  Stella, you-!  Good heavens, can I help at all?"

Even though the panic, his mind grapples at what she’s telling him.  Shaking his head, he blinks rapidly, trying to master himself.

_…I lose more of my humanity each year._

_…Not until you find the missing pieces._

Her hand comes to rest gently over his cheek, and and only then does he feel just how cold she is; as if she truly is made of porcelain, just as her features suggest.

She takes a small step back and begins unbuttoning her delicate blouse, pulling it down to reveal half of her chest and the majority of her abdomen completely gone.  What is still intact, hangs in shards and cracks across her milk skin.

The little one lifts her fluffy skirt up to show him the damage done to her thighs as well; one of which is missing completely, the other cracked and broken near the knee.

As Stella shows the extent of the damage to herself, a weak, inarticulate cry of distress escapes Sergio before he clasps a hand over his mouth, horrified at the sight.  His first instinct is to scoop her up into his arms and take her someplace safe - get her to a doctor or find someone, anyone to help somehow put her back together again.

But it won’t work like that.  Can’t work like that.  

The helplessness of it all galls him, but there’s nothing to be done - he can’t tell someone else’s story.  He can’t make this his problem to solve uninvited, and it’s clear that this is something she must undertake on her own.

Dazedly, he drops his hands from his mouth, swallowing hard and looking shaken.

But if she’s here, a reflection of Stella, and missing these things…and he’s here, as well, just over the bridge…

What on Earth is _his_ shard self missing?

"Why are you…you lose your humanity?  But…how?  What happens?  Wait do…do you mean to say this place…the way we are here…is it a reflection of who we are out there?"

The memory fragment lets him witness it all for a few moments more before redressing herself and attending to his questions with a sigh too heavy for a girl her age.

"I lose my humanity when I perform the _Årsgång_ ,” she explains. “It’s not the only reason for my loss of humanity and self, but it is quite a major part.

“And yes, this realm is _exactly_ that.”

"The… _Årsgång_?” he echoes hollowly.

The fragment steps closer again, gently threading her little fingers through his hair to soothe him, then stepping back to make a circling motion, as if tracing the outlines of an eye mask and then circling her head as if she’s drawing a crown on her head.

"That’s _your_ damage," She explains, pulling at his sleeve to get up and along with her yet again, bringing him to a whimsically decorated part of her forest with a big picnic blanket spread out and laden with many colorful cushions, she sits down and motions for him to do the same.

Sergio’s heart skips a beat as the little girl indicates his head and eyes.

"Blind and uncomprehending, then?" he ventures slowly.  But to what?  It was more than a little alarming to consider, especially given his role in the company as well as the family.  Calming himself, he follows her once more, trying to put it out of his mind for the time being.  There were other things to concern himself with now - namely the yearly loss of the fragments of Stella’s humanity.

 _How_ was it happening?  Where were they going to and could they be restored to her?

When they sit down, the sound of tired gears and quiet music boxes returns as the fuzzy stuffed animals from before peek out behind thick oak trees, bearing trays of tea and cups, pastries and candy, all spread before them.

"If you want me to tell you something, you must formulate the request as a question. But be aware that I might not be able to answer it all."

He glances about at the clockwork animals and toy-like forest dwellers before sinking onto the cushion with the pixie-like memory fragment.  Taking a cup of tea obligingly, he hesitates before attempting to look her directly in the eyes.

"What is the _Årsgång_ , and why do you do it?”

The fragment sets her teacup beside her on a matching platter and turns to look at the inky man, though not straight into his eyes; afraid of driving him insane with hers.

"Your eyes are very beautiful," she comments after being silent for too long- "So warm and deep, filled with so much love and… So much sorrow too. I hope I’ll see them one day." Her lips are then occupied by the warm cup of tea in her small hands.  "The _Årsgång_ is a Swedish New Year tradition. I don’t know why I’m still doing it, but it’s something I’ve done for a very long time.  It’s a tradition, as I said, and something, or someone is calling me each year to do it again and again.

“Have you ever noticed me acting strangely before the New Year’s eve? I’m sure you did. But did you ever notice the plane tickets I buy? Every year, to Sweden? I’m afraid you won't ever see them, but try to remember.”

"Well, yes," he replies, sipping his tea.  "But I knew it was something important you had to do; something important to where you came from and who you are.  I never wanted to interfere with it more intrude where I wasn’t wanted.  It isn’t my culture - I have no right to make demands.  I figured if it was something appropriate for me to engage in, I would be invited.  If I needed to know, you would let me know.  If I needed to not know, that was fine, too.  Justification for your actions was never something I felt owed to me."

Another sip goes down her throat as she readies herself to tell him all he needs to know and help him prepare for the future.

"Each New Year’s eve I fly to Sweden and spend twenty four hours locked in a dark room with no food nor water and no human interaction - just me and my thoughts, cleansing myself and getting ready.

“On the New Year I go to a church. I circle it three times to the left, once to the right and once again to the left, then I blow into the keyhole and look inside.”

She stops there, patiently waiting for any more questions before she can continue.

He hesitates, looking into his teacup, glancing about at the terrifying yet whimsical surroundings, then looks to the broken reflection of his wife seated with him.

"…What sorts of things do you see when you look into the keyhole?"

She listens to him attentively but then the fragment clicks her tongue, feeling another crack blooming on her porcelain skin, chipping off and dropping onto her soft skirt.  Picking it up and re-positioning it with the help of one of the shaking stuffed animals, a spoonful of honey is applied to hold it in place.

A noise of distress escapes Sergio as a fragment of the memory’s skin chipped and fell.  He makes an instinctive motion forward to attend to her, but halts as she mends herself.

"I see the future," she finally responds, "And every hint I see takes another part of my humanity away."

Little Stella swirls the amber liquid in her cup, weighing her next words carefully, glancing to the side at the ink-colored guest and purses her lips in determination.

"I’m getting wiser as the years pass.  My role in your realm is dangerous. I know how you die."

_The future?_

"Stella, whatever your role in my realm, I would never forsake you.  Whatever’s to come, we can work through it.  Whatever danger you may pose is nothing we can’t overcome together.  We’ve done so much already, I’m convinced nothing can stand in our way if we just put our minds to a task."

The last words she utters, however, make his blood go cold.

"…I beg your pardon?

He stares at her for a long moment, setting his tea aside.  It takes him a short while to find his words again, voice tense as fear rattles down his vertebrae.

"And how is it that I die?"

She shakes her head, averting her eyes from his when she begins to feel his fear sipping into her own cracks, freezing everything inside.

"I can’t tell you.  I can’t even if I wanted to. You’re not ready yet to know the details of such information, but I can tell you this," The fragment turns to face him fully.

"Seed will be planted in a royal garden and three daffodils will bloom from it, the҉̨͢ ̴s̶un ̵̀͟w̛i͟ll ̀҉g҉̛ui̡d̨e̵ ͜t҉h͡҉̶é̕m͝ ́a͘n̸͢d͝ ̡şh̀i҉̕n͞e̛ ͝i͜t͘͟se̕̕͡ĺ̶͠f́͢ ̵̡̕th̸̶͡r͘͜͝o҉͟u̴gh͝ ̷͢͜t̨̀h̀̕͡è̴ ̸҉f̛̛͡lò͏̧we̴r͢ş̕.̵ ̵T̴̢he̛̕͜ ͘g͞҉a͞͠͏r̕d̸̢͝é̕n̷̛͘ ̸͝w̡͏͜i̴l̡l͟ ͜b̵̧͢èco͏m͘͞e̢͞͏ ͘ e͂̈ͭͦͩ̏n̂ͦͤ͂v̈́̆̂e͊̿̊ͯͣl̆ȍͪͧ͒͋ͮ̓̂ͥpͥ̓ͬeͣ͆͛d̀̏́͑͐̾ ͦ͋̈͊ͬͨ̄́b̒͐ͩ͒͊̆̈ͫy̑ͤ́ͬ ͋ͩ̓ͭͫ̈́̃̚lͨi̐ḡ̉̋̄̑̊hͨ͒̄͑̚ṫ͑ͦͧ͛ ͦͨ̂c̏̎ͬ̆̍̍̊oͪ̌̔̍̿͛̈ͫm͂ͥ̂̂ͯͩ̐p̅͋̈͂ͤ́l͂̅ͫ̈́̒́e̎ͨ̅̃t͂͊̅̃ͬe̅͋́̋̈͋̿̈́l͐̓̏͊̇y͑ ̇̇̐͑ͦă͛̈ͥͬ̓̃n͆̃̄ͧd̈ ̄͒̅̅ͫ̾̽t̀̃̓ͩ̐ͧ̽̒hͩ̽ͮ̉͊̄̊̋ȇ̉̈̇̂̓̎͒ ͑ͣ̍̂̒̍̉̒͗gͤaͣ͊̓̍ͤ̓r̃̊̀̉̒̆d̆͊͛ͫe̾̏̉ͤ̿̊ͭ͂ͪn͊ͫeͦrͦ̿ ̿̉̊w͒ͩͫ̅̏ḯ͛ͥ̓ͯlͬ̏͌ͪ̒̿̒l̿̄ͥ̉ ̉̚̚ãbͪ͑ͬ̉s̄͗͂͊̚c̈́͒́͒o̍̆͐͊n͂ͭ̈́̃͛d͋ͩ͐͐̑ͥ̈́ͯ ̏͗̌̈̈t͊͆̄̑͛̊͛̾o͊̍ ̈͌̄t̾͊̍̾h̋̆̒ͮ͐ȇ͐̓̓̔̄̓ ̂̐ͮ͌tͩ̈̋͐ͮoͫ͆͛͋̆pͨ͊̓͋̅̃ ͐̇fͥͤͤl̾ͬ̆̂̀̌͌ͫoͩͩ̽͌̌̚o̽͋͋̆͒ͥ̃—”

She begins coughing then, holding to her little throat and shaking as a tar like substance pours from her lips.

Met with direct eye contact, Sergio draws in a sharp breath through his teeth, his body feeling as if it were caught between successive waves of numbness and intense sensation.  His nerves sing out as her words lance through him, a cry of protest dying in his throat even as his curiosity flared within.  

As she halts, he pitches forward, catching himself, breathing rapid and shallow.  Blinking the cotton wool from the edges of his vision, he spies the tarry substance escaping the child’s mouth and his expression became alight with alarm.

"Oh, Smiling God!   _Stella_!"

He reaches out to steady the little girl, eyes wide and worried.  Hastily, the re-educator snatches up a napkin, dabbing at the viscous black fluid.

Her trembling little hand pats at his cheeks until it finds his lips, resting there to keep him quiet as she spits the last drop of the inky liquid that turns into a centipede nest as it hits the blanket beneath, scattering to every corner.

"Don’t say that here." She plucks his napkin from his hands to clean the last drops. "And just as I warned before, I can’t tell you everything. That was one of the things I can’t tell you of."

The clockwork forest dwellers watch the two of them silently, rhinestone eyes shining in worry and intrigue, heads tilting and gears clicking morbidly, the sound finally revealing the realm’s true colors.

The forest becomes dark and the air loses it’s spring breeze, naked, black branches reach to the grey skies above and the world around them glitches violently with every creak and breath of the forest.

Sergio climbs slowly to his feet, eyes wide as he surveys the shifting landscape.

Things are going all wrong.

What is this place, truly?  

He moves unconsciously closer to the child, paternal instincts surfacing in spite of himself.  Reaching out to touch the girl’s shoulder, his voice lowers.

"Stay close."

Inwardly he chides himself.  

_You arrogant idiot.  You’re the stranger here, not her.  This is her realm; her world.  You’re the visitor._

"Do you know what’s happening?  Why are things changing like this?  Are we in danger?"

The fragment watches him warily, seeing the flurry of emotions pass on his features in an incredible speed. From horror to guilty awe to disgust and helplessness to a fright once again.

“Don’t patronize me.” She clicks her tongue and slowly gets up. “There’s no danger to you, you’re not a part of this realm after all, just a trespasser for now.

“I’m not in danger either, this is just how my mind really looks like. I try my hardest to keep it bright and brilliant at all times, but it’s exhausting, these shifts are sudden and violent, and I don’t like them one bit.” The little one confesses.

“It will be over soon and the place will be warm again, take my hand, let’s go somewhere else for now.” She holds out her little hand to him.

Sergio composes himself, offering the other an apologetic look.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know and it just came over me.  I meant no offense.”

He takes her little hand in his, giving her a small bow of his head.

“Please lead the way.  If it is too tiring to maintain the way it looked, you needn’t do it.  I was simply startled by the sudden shift.”

Her hand is given a tiny squeeze.

“I thank you for being my guide here.  This is your realm and I must respect that as well as your position here.  But please, if there’s anything I can do, just tell me.  I only want the best for you; for my family.  I had no idea any of this was transpiring.”

She looks at him again then down and forward to face their destination, silently guiding him on, not knowing how to reply to his pleas when she herself doesn’t know any escape routes.

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” The little one finally says, tiny feet crushing dead leaves underneath and big eyes looking up at him for a moment before resuming watching ahead.  She guides them on along a quartz encrusted road towards what looks like a very old collapsing bridge, wrapped in mist and cold; dead air.

From the fog a familiar voice whispers weakly, broken and tired and so very young, “Stella... Stella....”

Sergio feels his blood turn to ice in his veins, halting without realizing it at the sound of the little voice.  She’d told him – just told him – about the little blind, mindless boy, and yet…

“Is that..?”

He doesn’t know if he’s ready – if she means to take him to meet the little fragment.  His heart leaps into his throat, anxiety tumbling through him like, jagged and piercing.

“Should we…is it wise to…to meet him?”

The little fragment watches and studies his reactions silently, pulling him back from the ghostly wails of himself, before she can be detected by the other fragment, sending both of the males into a fit of despair.

“He can’t cross the bridge without my help, he never could, I don’t think he’ll make it this time either.” She explains.

But, contrary to her words a gentle patter of little, booted feet resounds through the fog and against the heavy stony bridge.  Something snaps and there is a startled cry before the little steps resume.

“He’s here,” She whispers. “He actually made it!”

Sergio’s hand is let go of as the memory fragment of his wife rushes in a flurry of petticoats and ribbons towards a shadowy figure in the distance. She stops by it and takes the hands of a young boy in her’s, guiding him slowly into her realm, in all of his tattered princely garb; a silver crown, tangled with thorns on his head and a hurricane of butterflies escaping in and out of empty eye sockets.

She sighs in relief and soothingly pats the frightened, whispering boy’s back, “You made it here on your own, I’m so proud of you, I told you you should trust your senses and gut feeling more, see? See how I was right?”

The boy mumbles a soft yes and feels the air in front of him, cold fingers brushing against Sergio’s pants and the boy gasps at the sensation, taking a careful step forward with the help of Stella’s fragment.

Looking up, she instructs her inky guest before coming any closer.  “Close your eyes, Sergio.”

Sergio feels his stomach twist at the plaintive cries, torn between rushing to the side of the distressed fragment and a feeling of profound terror at what he might glimpse.  If these apparitions are reflections of who they truly are, is he really ready to see it?  To see _himself_?

“Yes,” he murmurs, following Stella’s instructions.

If Stella is so shattered, missing all of these pieces of herself, and he is without his mind and eyes, what ramifications of that reflection are evident in his life outside of this place?  What is he blind to?  What is he not considering?

“Easy... Easy...” One clumsy foot after the other and Sergio’s fragment collapses into the tall man like a newborn doe, feeling his way up the man’s legs, turning his head towards the little Stella in confused horror.

“Sergio, only open your eyes when you are really ready for it. You can keep your eyes closed if it makes you feel more comfortable, try not to touch him if so, your hand might go...”  She stops and gulps, “Into the void in his head.

Stella’s warning halts Sergio in mid-reach, the man’s natural instinct to help the stumbling little one.  Instead, he allows his hands to drop to his sides once more.

_…when you are really ready for it…_

When would he ever be truly ready for it?  How could he know – what would be his barometer?

When was it _ever_ a good time for a shocking truth?

There is a long hesitation on his part before slowly, almost against his will, the re-educator opens his eyes to look down on the small, shattered fragment of himself clinging to his legs.

With Stella’s fragment’s gentle encouragement, Sergio’s own gently lifts his head up to turn his attention towards the man fully.  The flurry of butterflies escape in and out of the hollow of the little boy’s head, perching on the Sergio’s shoulders after giving up the search for an identical hollow in the tall man’s head.

No eyes look back at Sergio, just as Stella’s fragment has already explained, a mask-full portion of his head is gone, cracks decorating smooth and soft cheeks in tear-like stains.

And then he begins glitching.

“Your time is up,” the little girl announces. “Is there anything you want to ask him, Sergio? Anything at all? Now is the time, hurry!”

Sergio feels a spike of sorrow within him.  The fragment is so tiny – so fragile.  The lack of eyes, the butterflies fluttering in and out of his hollowed head.

The tears.

The question is immediate.

Kneeling, a cloud of butterflies rising from his shoulders, the man takes the boy’s shoulders gently in his hands, his face a mask of concern.

“How can I help?  What can I do to make all of this better?”

There is a breath of despair washing over what is left of the small boy’s features, twisting in agony as cold little fingers twist into the lapels of the man’s suit and the boy opens his mouth to speak to him.

What comes out is a horrid shriek of static.  The little one tries again and again to be heard and deliver his message, gasping in horror as the man starts to glitch out of existence from their realm.  Instinctively reaching to his side where Stella’s fragment watches in worry, he grasps her hand for support.

Stella’s little memory manages to skip over to where Sergio is crumbling out of their realm to place a small peck on his cheek.

“Forget about us.” She whispers as the world goes black.

 

...

 

In the darkness a voice calls to him, warmth and love begging him to return, to wake at last:

“—io! Sergio! Wake up, sleepy head.” Stella hovers above him, worry painting her features, “Hey, are you alright?”

Sergio blinks rapidly as he is beckoned back into the world of the waking.  A small part of him, quiet and fading, but insistent, pleads with him to remain – to not answer the summons of the person on the other side.  

_Don’t go!  You don’t have your answer yet!  You don’t—_

“Stella?” he murmurs, voice thick with the haze of sleep.  

The forest with its whimsy and horror fled him.  The clockwork animals, cushions, and tea.  The tiny princess and the blind, mindless prince.

_Forget about us_

He offers his wife a sheepish smile.

“Good heavens, I fell asleep at the office again, didn’t I?”

Laughing gently, he rubs his eyes.

“My apologies, bee sweet.  Did I worry you?”


End file.
